A Stark Difference
by Cunri of the Mountains
Summary: "I was just wondering, why you are so much taller than all the other elves?" Just a one-shot with some world-building.


The new Santa looked at me for the fifth time in two minutes. Rolling my eyes, I finally glanced up from my clipboard, "Can I help you with something?" I tried to sound polite, but I was getting tired of answering his questions. The last Santa was not this hard to get along with.

He made a face. "Oh, well," he paced a little closer to me, "I was just wondering, why you are so much taller than all the other elves?"

I stared at him, blank faced. A small snicker caught my attention. I whipped around to see one of the new recruits in the gift-wrapping division straighten up and walk hastily out of the hall, hiding his smirking face. I bit my tongue. Turning back to Santa, I sighed heavily. "There is more than one kind of elf." I stated bluntly, hoping he would just take the answer and leave, but he seemed puzzled.

He scratched his eyebrow, "So you're telling me, you are a different type of elf than all of the others?"

I could feel my face getting hot. "I'm not different from _all_ of the others." I sounded more defensive than I meant to. "There is Quinton, the head of Research and Development, Maynard and Hartman in Toy Engineering and Design, and Millicent in the Reindeer Training Division," Most of the elves had quickly left the hallway as they caught pieces of our conversation. I forced myself to meet his eyes. "We are Stark Elves. We are taller than the other races, but that's really the only difference. Most of the elves in the Baking Rooms are Klein Elves and only grown to two-and-a-half feet tall. The most common here are the Kranz Elves." Everything tumbled from my mouth in one, long, nervous breath.

"Why aren't there more Stark Elves, like you?"

He asked with ignorance almost childlike. Well, he is not even a century old yet. I allowed a tired sigh escape my lips as I looked away. "Most of us think it isn't worth the hassle."

I should not have left so abruptly, but my gut was in knots. I glanced at my watch; Millicent should go on break in twenty minutes. I plodded down the candy-striped halls, crossing the courtyard, and pushing open the heavy barn doors. Dasher glanced at me sheepishly from his pin, trying to hide the broken tip of his antler. I whispered gently to him, patting his neck, "Don't worry about it, bud. It's hardly noticeable." I stepped silently through the straw to the calf room. Millicent loved training the little ones. I peeked in the window slyly, watching her harness a young reindeer. It spit the bit from its mouth and pulled away from the tall elf. She wrapped the reigns around her hands and held the irritable calf still. Replacing the bit, she stiffly led the calf around the room, stroking its shoulders reassuringly. After a few minutes, she took the calf through the back doors. I waited by the window.

As she reappeared, her face beamed. "For what do I owe such a pleasant surprise?" She asked with a dramatic flip of her wrist and an over-done curtsey. She was hardly dressed formally with worn, baggy pants and bitts of hay and mud in her dark brown hair.

I quickly threw a smile on my face. "Mill, I was just wondering if you were going on break soon." It wasn't a lie, but it was not fully truth either.

Her expression fell. "Bernard, are you okay?" She looked me right in the eye.

My phony smile did not fool her for a moment. "I'm fine."

Her hands landed heavily on her hips, and she stared at me, unmoving. "Bern, you are a terrible liar. Do I need to beat up someone for you?" She asked, cracking her knuckles. A genuine grin crossed my face as I imagined her pounding Santa Claus. I had no doubt that she could do it: I saw her wrestle Blitzen to the ground when he refused to get his vaccines.

I pretended to look at the rough, cedar wall, "I'm just a little home sick."

"Is this about Tinsel-Brain in Toy Building, because that little wheeze-rat is-"

"It wasn't him." I grumbled, "The new Santa was asking why I'm different than all the other elves."

"Did you tell him it's because you have more than three brain cells?" She quipped. She softened her tone as she noted my mood. "We aren't different."

Anger rose in my belly. "Well I know that! If they would get that through their frost-bitten skulls than maybe-"

She leaned forward, "You know that most of them don't think that way." Shaking my arm, she laughed, "You're Head-Elf for Kringle-sake!" I met her brown eyes. "You worked hard for that position. And you earned it. You don't have to let a few snowflakes ruin it for you."

My anger rolled off my shoulders and left my eyes feeling wet. Gratitude warmed me to my toes. "Thanks, Mill."

She glanced at her watch and huffed. "Now, enough of this mushy stuff. Are we going to get lunch or what?"


End file.
